#troupe2.part1

[theportaraceli]

who? @studentalthea where? Aventia, near the evacuation lines when? A few minutes before the memories hit, because I love drama

A day after the odd exchange with the merchant, it haunted her still. Araceli knew not the reason, whether because she knew the little fox toy was infinitely important but remembered not why, or due to the inherent oddness of the whole exchange. She doesn’t understand why, but there is something missing. A whole on her chest, empty darkness where something else once stood. The thought lingers at the edge of her mind through the evacuation, worry heavy on her brow as she continues her tasks and pretends everything is alright as to not to alarm her people. 

She manages just fine, until she meets Althea’s eyes across the crowd and sees the doubt clear on them. It’s no surprise the Emissary notices, not when their entire relationship was born while they were both wearing masks. Long had they grown from that, but that doesn’t change the fact that they knew each other’s masks, and when they were wearing them. 

With a sigh, she steps away from the crowd and deeper into the crumbling streets of her once home. The sight sends off another pang of loss through her, the reality of her rotting home ever present and sharing space with her worry about her deal. 

“There is no going back, is there?” She asks quietly, as she hears Althea step closer, eyes flickering to meet hers with a bitter smile on her lips.

[theportaraceli]

The beginning of the end of all Araceli has ever known begins with tremors. 

Her day had long started, by the time tremors began, most of her morning gone as she revised proposals and all manner of paperwork. Araceli notices them by the trembling of her ink, dripping upon the paper as the world seems to shudder in anticipation of the horrors they will witness over the next fortnight. At first, she thinks it could be merely a natural event, but then she looks out the window and sees smoke. It’s not enough to worry her overmuch, still, but enough for her to set her quill aside and stalk to the window, brown eyes scanning the horizon as her heart begins to race. 

It’s the first screams that have her rushing out the door and crossing Celaya’s path. The presence of the Witcher is not surprising, since she had done nothing to get rid of her just yet, hoping that her warning would stay her hand for long enough to persuade her to betray her loyalties. Yet, while Celaya’s words are not a surprise, the implied offer of aid is. 

The tension on her shoulders loosens ever so slightly, a sense of relief filling her as she realizes the other means to fight and not flee. As abhorrent as she believes witchers to be, there is no denying that they are powerful warriors, as having her fighting by her side will be beyond helpful. 

“Follow me,” she tells her with a nod, reaching forward to grab Celaya’s wrist — Carefully, loosely, just enough to guide but weak enough the witcher could get rid of it with a movement — and takes one of the hallways opposite of the direction the guards were taking. Best to properly attire the Witcher, now that her help has become essential. “What is your weapon of choice?”

starter for @theportaraceli.

where: inside lady severian's homestead

when: aventia siege, at the beginning

note: yikes

Whatever reliance she'd come to find within the faiman had snapped and warped beneath her reaction to a truth which Celaya was unable to change. She'd noted quickly that, though she could remember many faces as they cropped up, that none were often tied with kindred memories of positive pasts. It spoke of a scalding truth - that perhaps she was the monster Araceli believed her to be. Where Celaya had woken with a blank space of her former identity, she could still sense her former glories; the strength that imbued her musculature, her constitution to have endured so much and come back from the brink. It spoke of a hardy woman, one who'd many experiences under her belt, but she'd learned quickly that she was the very antithesis to a hero. To Lysarans, she was a monstrosity, a blight on their citizens, and as one did when feeling cornered; she'd lash out.

She was not one for theatrics; her bitter contempt was a much more silent lethality, a snake in the grass, a predator stalking close until their prey felt comfort.

Any petulant plans of resent collapsed the moment screams pierced the morning air, the moment the skies of Aventia were streaked with ashen smoke.

Celaya had little time to gather herself before the sounds of an all-out war resounded outside her window; close, but not yet on top of them. Tossing the doors of her personally sanctioned quarters open, she tried to remain neutral at the sight of Lady Araceli who also seemed awoken by the early morning commotion.

"It seems Borderreach is the new jewel in their eyes," if Iskaldrik had fallen, it seemed now their enemies were going for the head of Lysara's defenses. "Where is your weapons chamber?" She turned to head one direction, hardly looking upon Lady Araceli; guards of Lady Severian rushed past them in the hallway, barely sparing a glance as they rushed to bolster outside defenses.